Mercy
by Mirrorbrine
Summary: Fighting was never something Steve was very good at, but he needs to give his all in a fight that could very well end his life. Unfortunately, he's used to almost being murdered on a regular basis.


Mercy

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**I bet you guys thought I was DEAD by now, didn't you?! Well I'm alive and kicking and here with a random fight scene full of angst! Take that!**

**Also, I'll be working on updating and improving my main story, 1nF3cTeD, for those of you who wonder what happened to it. It's still going, but it needs a few changes! Thanks for your patience, guys! Enjoy this thing I made!**

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Steven fumbled through the darkness, clumsily gathering items to shove into a knapsack that hung at his side. Scooping up two loaves of bread and an apple, he glanced anxiously around his house, assuring himself he was alone. It's time to go,he told himself. Slipping out the front door, he padded across the freshly fallen snow, his breath coming out in plumes that rose into the chilly night air. Heading straight for the woods, he swallowed the lump that had formed in his throat. He felt exposed. Watched. Was he being paranoid, or was something following him? The crunching of snow beneath his boots seemed to drown every other noise out, and his breathing quickened.

With the expertise of a woodsman, he darted between the bare trees, their branches clawing up at the sky like some kind of angry beast. Suddenly, he burst out of the woods and into a large clearing. He stumbled a little, looking around wildly as the back of his neck prickled.

"Well, well, well," a silky voice called, a threatening edge lacing the words. Steve froze, gritting his teeth. I shouldn't have come turned towards the voice, his trembling hand resting on the hilt of the sword sheathed at his hip.

The shadows that mottled the forest floor suddenly pooled together before him, creating a dark puddle that rose up to form the shape of a man. The man, with his dark hair and bronzed skin, looked much like Steve did— all except for one disturbing feature. Two glowing, snow-white eyes stared out at Steve, blank and emotionless; cold like distant stars. "I had a feeling you'd be passing by tonight." The man's face split into a sinister grin, and he stepped forward, exposing himself in the moonlight. Pale, slightly swollen scars mottled his once handsome face, and he wore a simple cyan T-shirt, seemingly undisturbed by the cold. One muscular hand gripped a glittering diamond sword that gleamed in the moonlight.

He eyed Steve for a moment, his smile widening a little as he noted the slightly battered metal sword that hung at Steve's hip. Steve gulped, willing his numb fingers to grip the hilt tightly.

Remaining silent, he gazed boldly into the stranger's eyes, lifting his chin in challenge. "What's this? Cat got your tongue?" The stranger asked in surprise, coming closer. "No snappy comebacks tonight? No sarcasm?" Steve grit his teeth angrily, slowly inching away from the man even as his arms trembled from the cold. "Such a shame," the newcomer sighed. "I would've liked to hear your last words." With that, he pounced, driving the sword towards Steve's chest with brutal force.

Steve slid to the side, raising his sword so the blades glanced off each other. Without missing a beat, the stranger swung the sword at Steve's neck, forcing him to duck. Steve swept his own blade down at the man's calves, and there was a pained hiss as an angry red gash suddenly appeared on the stranger's right leg. He lifted a knee, driving it into Steve's stomach mercilessly. Gagging back vomit, Steve dropped to the ground and rolled out of the way of another blow, this one powerful enough to get his opponent's sword stuck in the frozen earth. As the man was tugging it out, Steve took a moment to catch his breath, his lungs burning from the cold.

With a crunch, the sword slid out of the earth, and the man whirled to face Steve, who stepped back in alarm. Infuriated, the attacker darted forward at him, swiftly executing a series of stabs and slashes aimed at Steve's torso. Steve panted as his numbed arms maneuvered to block each swing.

Irritated, the man tried to kick Steve in the belly again, but Steve was prepared for that. He grabbed the man's leg, lifting it over his head and sneering as he shoved forward with all his might. The stranger grunted as he tumbled into the snow, disoriented.

Steve darted forward, slashing his sword across the man's chest. The stranger let out a strained cry, grabbing his sword out of the snow and raising it to block the next blow.

Steve jerked as metal met metal, the swords grinding together as the man pushed back, using the opportunity to slowly rise to his feet, his back and hair dusted in snow. "Look at you, standing your ground this time. You always thought you were such a little hero, didn't you," the man leered, a cruel glint in his eye. Steve growled, sliding back a few inches. "At least I'm not a filthy demon like you," he snarled, his lip curling in disgust. The icy earth made it difficult for him to hold his ground, and his arms began to tremble from the strain as blade pressed against blade. The man studied Steve's face for but a moment, pain and contempt written across his own features. Then he shoved with the force of an iron golem, and Steve went flying, letting out a cry of fear as the sword flew out of his hands. Skidding into the snow, he gasped as a sharp rock jabbed into his left shoulder, and sudden tears filled his eyes.

"You've gotten a little better, I'll admit," his opponent rasped, his face contorted in pain. "But you'll never be as good as me. I'm going to finish what I started." He darted forward, stabbing the sword down towards Steve's neck. Steve rolled out of the way as blow after blow rained down. Everything ached with cold, and he didn't even know which way was up. Fear threatened to take over, and he thrashed a little, barely avoiding a powerful downward swing. Suddenly, a horrible stinging sensation raced through his right arm as the sword made contact, and he inhaled sharply, tucking the injured limb close to his body. For a moment, he groped for his sword, eyes widening when he realized he had lost it. Desperately, he grabbed the man's injured leg and squeezed, yanking it towards him.

The guy fell with a cry of surprised pain, releasing his weapon as he landed roughly on Steve's torso. Steve was gasping now, his head swirling as his heart thumped wildly. It was too cold to fight!

Pushing the struggling body off him, he hurriedly turned to grab the sword lying in the snow before scrambling to his feet, the pain in his shoulder and forearm already being partially numbed by the cold. He kicked the man in the ribs, wincing as the person let out another cry of pain. Breathing deeply, he stood over the villain, sword held limply in his hands. "Look, I don't want to do this. Give up while you still can," Steve demanded, his voice hoarse and grating. The man panted for air, struggling to free himself from Steve's grip. Then, unexpectedly, he forced a strained smile. "Don't tell me you didn't realize," he wheezed in a would-be mysterious voice. Steve furrowed his brows, squinting down at him. "Realize what?"

"That I always come prepared."

Moving so fast that Steve didn't have time to register what was going on, the man whipped a dagger out of his belt and drove it into Steve's ankle, the blade forcing itself through his thick boot. Steve roared in pain, his face contorting as he stumbled back in shock. Sneering, the villain leapt to his feet, beckoning Steve to come forward with one hand, the knife held ready in the other. Steve lunged. Nimbly, the attacker dodged around him, slicing the knife up Steve's back before sprinting over to where Steve's sword lay fallen in the snow a few yards away as Steve arched his body, howling. Triumphantly, the man snatched the metal sword up, nimbly tucking the knife back away. "This is your weapon? You're weaker than I thought," he chided. "But it'll get the job done, I suppose." He snorted in disgust, hefting the unfamiliar sword in one hand. Then he charged, blade held at the ready.

Metal flashed in the moonlight as the two men fought in silence, their breath rising into the air like smoke. Other than the sound of sword clashing against sword, the forest was deafeningly silent.

Steve gasped for breath, the thin night air making him feel dizzy and light-headed. His hair hung in his face, and he began to lose focus, swinging haphazardly when he wasn't protecting himself. The other Crafter didn't say a word, his brow furrowed as he concentrated on attacking Steve's left side, where he was weaker, while blocking Steve's wild attacks. Steve could feel the man's hot breath on his face, and panic filled his mind as he realized that, sooner or later, he was going to make a mistake and wind up dead. He dodged a lighting-fast swipe at his head, wincing as the blade grazed the tip of his ear. The flurry of attacks was slowing down, and he could see the man beginning to lose energy as well, the chilly night finally beginning to take its toll on him as well.

"You know, sometimes I almost feel bad for you," the man gasped.

"Why would you? You have no heart."

"This is all happening because you're just plain stupid. It really is a shame you never listened to me. Then maybe Tanya wouldn't have died."

"Me not listening to you is what kept me from becoming a monster," Steve bellowed, lurching forward unsteadily. The villain forced a laughed, easily batting away the reckless attack. "A monster? Is that what you think of me? It's your own fault she's gone, you know."

"Shut up," Steve growled, his chest burning with fury.

"You never do listen to anyone. You didn't even listen to her, did you? She warned you, too. But no, you foolishly thought you knew bet—"

"SHUT UP! I SAID SHUT UP!" Steve screamed. His vision seemed to have a red tint to it, and he flew forward, anger blinding him as he wildly slashed away, determined to tear his opponent apart. The man stepped back in surprise, using both arms to protect against the strength of Steve's attacks. The blades became a blur, and the longer the fight went, the angrier Steve became. "You—" the man started. "Shut up! You don't know anything about it!" Steve shrieked, not willing to let him finish. Twisting his sword, he managed to cut his opponent's knuckles, weakening his grip on the sword.

"You have no right to talk about this! NO RIGHT!"

Abruptly, he feinted towards the man's skull, then delivered a slash to his stomach, the blade biting deeply. There was a roar of surprise, and the white eyes flared in alarm as a hand jumped to the wound. Steve pressed his advantage, slashing and stabbing mercilessly. The guy was forced to grab the hilt of his own sword with both hands, now using all his strength to defend himself. Steve's arms shook, adrenaline fueling their fading strength.

Before the man could recover, Steve brought his knee up suddenly towards the Crafter's groin before lashing out and shoving his assailant's head back, sending him back to the ground once again. The man let out a rasp, desperately curling up to protect himself. Kicking him again to make him uncurl, Steve stomped on his chest, knocking the breath out of him. The Crafter gasped for air, and Steve pounded down as hard as he could on the attacker's sword arm, crushing it under his icy boot. There was a painful crunching noise, and the man hissed in pain, scrabbling at Steve's boots with his good arm. Steve held his ground, cold fury filling his eyes. I've got him this time.

After a few minutes of weak struggling, the man gave up, panting for air from his place in the snow. Steve gazed at him for a moment, then raised his sword. Grimly, the fallen opponent set his jaw, bracing himself for what was about to happen as Steve looked down at him hesitantly. The man's glowing eyes hardened. "Do it," He rasped. "This the moment you've been waiting for, isn't it?"

Steve simply stared at him, the fire filling his veins fading. If he killed him, that would make him no better than the villain himself. Unbidden, a voice whispered in his ear, would Tanya want this? Would she want you to become a killer? Letting out a sigh, he lowered the blade a little. I'm better than this. It's not right to take frowned, forcing himself to let go of his anger. "I don't want to kill you. Tanya... she wouldn't want this. All this fighting over her? She would hate it. All I want now is to live in peace. ...I owe it to her." He slid off of his opponent, and the man stared at him, confusion filling his eyes. "Why? You know what happened." He stated simply. Steve thought for a moment, partly wondering the same thing. "I'm not like you," he finally said. "I will never stoop so low as to be like you."

He fell quiet, watching the man struggle to get to his feet. Eventually, he gave up, letting his body drop back into the dirtied snow. Blood trickled down a small cut on the man's cheek, and he held a hand to his stomach, his face twisted in pain. Suddenly, Steve was hit with a wave of nostalgia. He missed the old times. The times they didn't fight. The times they laughed together and goofed off when they weren't supposed to. His shoulders sagged as he watched the battered man before him gasp for it really have to be like this?

Steve stepped towards him, and the man glared up defiantly. Well, he's certainly no coward,Steve admitted to himself. Reluctantly, he held his good hand out, and the Crafter stared incredulously. "You seriously think you're going to help me?"

Steve didn't bother to respond, staring instead into the other's eyes. After a long moment of confused silence, the man turned to look down at his ragged body. His fingers were already blue with cold, and the t shirt he had foolishly chosen to wear provided no protection against the deadly chill. Steve sighed impatiently. "Do you want to die? Even if you don't bleed out, you're going to end up with a serious case of frostbite, lying out here like this."

The man scowled, the light from his eyes dimming slightly. "If you think this will get you any favors, you're wrong. I don't know what game you're playing, but I won't fall for it." He reached out to grab Steve's hand, and Steve grunted as he pulled him to his feet.

Wordlessly, he looped an arm around the man's shoulder, supporting him as they limped deeper into the woods. Steve glanced back at the glinting swords that lay in the scuffled snow, deciding he would go back for them later. The guy put his weight on Steve's stiffened shoulder, and Steve resisted a hiss, forcing himself to ignore the pain. The Crafter refused to look at Steve, and his jaw was set in anger. It was a forced emotion, though. Steve could see the weariness in his eyes, and the drag in his step revealed how tired he really was.

It took until two hours before dawn to arrive where Steve had originally set out for. A small log cabin lay nestled between two mountains, its rooftop capped in snow. The man beside Steve was lurching dangerously to the side, and Steve worried his injuries were more severe than they looked. His own head was spinning, and his right arm seemed to have lost a lot of blood from where it had been cut. Steve practically dragged the man up the stairs leading to the cabin, hastily turning the knob to let himself in.

Carelessly, he dumped the injured man down near the fireplace before turning to grab flint and steel, his weakened arm barely able to hold the flint tight enough to make a flame.

_Click—_

_Click—_

_Crack!_

The fireplace lit up with a warm, welcoming glow, and Steve sighed in relief as heat washed over his chilled face. The man on the floor grunted, his eyes flickering briefly before closing. Regretfully, Steve turned away from the fire, hustling to shut the front door and grab some bandages from a cabinet. After tending to his own wounds, he bound up the Crafter's, uncertain of what to do. He'd never in his wildest dreams expected things to work out this way. Part of him still wanted to get rid of the man, but he felt better about his decision to save him.

Once he finished, he sat beside the guy, staring into the flames that licked at the edge of the brick fireplace as a sudden, hopeful feeling filled him, despite the pain that clouded his mind. Maybe things could be different from now on. Maybe the fighting could finally stop. Maybe showing mercy would change something for the better. The last thing he remembered before falling asleep was sliding down onto the floor, his numbed shoulder twinging with pain as it made contact with the man beside him.


End file.
